Exposed
by Smackalicious
Summary: Sometimes what's necessary for survival is almost worse than death. Dark. Sexual themes. SEE AUTHOR'S NOTE FOR DETAILS. Oneshot.


**Title: Exposed**  
><strong>Pairing: McGeeZiva, I guess. . . It'll make sense when you read it.**  
><strong>Rating: M<strong>  
><strong>Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, HurtComfort**  
><strong>Cat: Het<strong>  
><strong>Spoilers: None.<strong>  
><strong>Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Dub-Con, Fuck or Die, Sex, Voyeurism.<strong>  
><strong>Summary: Sometimes what's necessary for survival is almost worse than death.<strong>  
><strong>Author's Note: So, someone on Tumblr was looking for a few different types of fic to read and one of them she mentioned was "McGiva fuck or die." I wasn't really sure what fuck or die was, so she gave me a link, I read a couple stories and this idea took over my brain. It's NOT a happy fic. I couldn't leave it completely hopeless, though, so. . . You'll see. But keep in mind the genre as you're reading this. (If you're not sure what I mean by "fuck or die" or "dub-con," look them up and decide from there if you want to read it. :))<strong>

* * *

><p>"How long do you think it has been?"<p>

No answer, just the white noise of the warehouse, abandoned, stuck by the docks. The only visitors here are seagulls.

"It cannot have been more than a day. Tony and Gibbs. . ."

"Shut up, Ziva."

She leans her head back until it hits the cold wall. Her expression is blank. He's right. She should just shut up, stop talking, be fucking quiet. But . . . it's McGee. He doesn't tell people to shut up, especially not her.

"No." She sits up straighter, as if he can see her in this darkness.

"Ziva, I get what you're doing, but it's not going to work."

She waits a beat, then: "What am I doing, McGee?"

She hears the rustling of his pants against the concrete floor and knows it's his way of distracting himself from answering her question for at least a few moments. Move around, pretend to get _comfortable_ (a word that has lost all meaning), feign apology when he doesn't respond.

"We need to come up with a plan."

Ah. Just like that. Ziva can't help the way her lips twitch upwards, McGee is so true to himself.

"We can't just sit around waiting to be rescued. That's not . . . That's not who we are."

The laugh Ziva lets out sounds harsh in the empty space. "You think I am submitting? Giving those . . . _things _what they want? If either of us tries to escape, we will die. Everything is a trigger, waiting to be pulled."

"Do you think Tony and Gibbs know that?"

"Do you think they are so careless that they would not check?"

"Ziva. . ."

"Shh! Someone is coming."

McGee doesn't even bother to ask how she can hear footsteps outside, but closes his mouth, anyway.

Sure enough, he hears the ratcheting of a garage door sliding open and blinks as light filters in. His gaze flits around until he finds Ziva, and he feels the acid of bile rising in his throat when he does, wishing he hadn't.

She's dirty, with a busted lip, a cut on her cheek, dried blood on her neck. Her shirt is torn and he looks away when he realizes he can see more than is appropriate.

Ziva's approach is subtle, mocking a search for a way out, but she cannot help but stare when she sees him. She knew they were rougher with him than they had been with her, but she's not expecting to see him so bruised, his chest bare, his expression . . . lost as he tries not to look at her. She swallows and looks away, avoiding their captors as long as she can.

She's looking at the floor when a pair of combat boot-clad feet enter her line of vision. She keeps her calm, not wanting to give them any ammunition, to make them think she is weak, has weakened.

She finds herself pressing her lips together, hard, as she is yanked to her feet, and she can't help the automatic glance at McGee, whose eyes are dark with anger.

"Enjoying yourself, girlie?" The man who pulled Ziva to her feet speaks, and she jerks her head to the side, unable to handle the hot stench of his breath. He lowers his nose to her cheek, inhaling, and McGee struggles against his restraints, garnering the attention of the other two men who had entered the warehouse. They pull him up, one in front and one behind, and the man holding Ziva smirks. "Somebody's feeling awfully possessive."

"He's my partner," Ziva says before she can censor herself. "That's his job."

"How sweet," the leader says, while McGee glares at the man standing before him. The leader looks back and forth from McGee to Ziva, then says, "If you're so loyal to each other, why don't you prove it?"

Ziva starts to shake her head, sensing a trap, but before she can, she hears, "What do we have to do?"

She closes her eyes, knowing McGee has sunk them even deeper into this hell. The leader laughs at her reaction, sliding a hand further down her body, and McGee can barely contain his rage. Ziva wishes she could tell him to calm down, not make things any worse than they already are. But she also knows . . . no matter what they do, it will be in vain. These men lack compassion and are the worst kind of offenders – sexual predators. They've kidnapped and tortured military men and women alike, forcing them to perform sexual acts for their own sick pleasure. Ziva knows she and McGee are no better, and likely will be subjected to the same treatment.

The leader's hand tightens around Ziva's waist, her bare skin, and his voice sends a chill down her spine. "Give us a show."

"A show?" McGee feigns ignorance, receiving a slap across the face for his words.

"Don't play dumb, cop. You don't have anything now. We're in control. And who knows." He shrugs. "If we're satisfied, maybe we'll let you go."

"You'll never get away with this," McGee says, and Ziva groans inwardly. Provoking the men is not going to get them anywhere.

But the leader smiles, the curve of his lips nothing good, and walks toward McGee, dragging Ziva with him. McGee keeps his eyes on the leader, knowing if he looks at Ziva again, he'll come undone and any chance they have will be lost.

The leader stops about a foot away from where McGee and the other two men stand, the dirty smile still on his face. "Well, maybe I'll just kill one of you then. Huh? Might be fun to slice this one open." His hand teases Ziva's shirt open further and lingers over one of her breasts, and it's the last straw for McGee.

"Okay! Whatever you want, I'll do it."

"McGee." Ziva can't contain her silence any longer, and the leader grins with all the warmth of a snake. He doesn't say anything, just turns and takes Ziva with him as he walks away, and the two men with McGee follow him, each taking a hold of one of McGee's arms.

They stop at what appears to be the back of the warehouse, and Ziva sees there's a door there. The leader opens the door and shoves her inside, his hand around her wrists, and the other men follow suit.

Ziva lets out a deep breath as she sees the contents of the room. A bed, that looks like it hasn't been clean in ages, dirty white sheets, no pillows. She knows upon seeing the sight that this is their torture room, where they force their victims into sexual situations.

And she knows, that is just what is about to happen next.

"Give us a show," the leader repeats, and Ziva is snapped back to reality. She can do this, pretend they are undercover, _something_ to make it not what it is, but she knows it won't be that easy for McGee. He's never been this kind of person and something like this will eat at him for ages. "Show us how loyal you are to each other. Right there, on that bed, no barriers."

There's a moment of silence before McGee says, "Gonna be hard to do all tied up," his level voice betraying the terror he feels inside. If it were someone else, a stranger, anything would be easier than Ziva. He can't violate her like this. He respects her too much for that.

The leader is quiet as he contemplates McGee's statement, then shrugs, pulling out a knife. McGee sees the glint of the blade as he turns it in his hand and swallows hard, but lets out a breath when he uses it to cut through the duct tape binding Ziva's wrists together. He rips the tape from her skin and she flinches only slightly, as McGee starts, hating to see her in pain of any kind.

The leader turns and smiles at McGee then. "You'll have your chance soon enough, _McGee_." He tips his head at one of his henchmen, who performs the same action on McGee that the leader had on Ziva, and McGee flexes his hands, resisting the urge to punch these . . . _things, _as Ziva called them.

"Feet." The leader snaps his fingers and the two men each slice through the tape binding McGee and Ziva's ankles, then they are pushed forward to the bed. They turn to face the leader, avoiding each other's eyes, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "We'll give you some privacy, though we will be watching. Don't try to escape. Or else. . ." He flips out his knife again, letting the blade catch the light.

McGee can't help his glare. "We won't."

The leader raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, just motions for his men to follow him from the room. The door slams shut and McGee stands immediately, but Ziva's hand on his arm stops him from rushing to the door. "It may be a trap," she says, and he finally looks back at her. She meets his eyes and forces a smile. "It will be okay."

Suddenly, steel bars descend from the ceiling, down the walls, and slam into place once they hit the floor. The sound makes both agents jump and they look at each other, worry in their eyes.

"We've been caged in," McGee says, walking from Ziva over to one of the bars and wrapping a hand around it. "They could keep us in here forever."

"They won't." McGee turns to face Ziva, and it's like something in him clicks and he remembers she's been hurt, and he moves back to the bed, sitting next to her and picking up one of her hands and flipping it to look at her red, raw wrist.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and she nods.

"You should not be concerned with me." Her words are all business, but her voice is soft. She hesitates, then adds, "We have to do this. Will _you _be okay?" He doesn't answer, just stares at the wall of bars in front of him, so Ziva puts a hand on his arm, and he forces himself to look at her, surprised to see unshed tears in her eyes. She hasn't allowed herself to get emotional this whole time, so to see it now. . . "I trust you, Tim."

He can't look away from her then, her words burying themselves deep inside his stomach, and he knows he can do this, as much as he doesn't want to.

Then, static and a voice from overhead. "Enough talking. Or have you changed your mind?"

McGee looks up at the ceiling, trying to find the voice, and says, "No. We'll do it." He waits for a response for a moment before looking back to Ziva. She nods and shrugs her shirt the rest of the way off.

McGee watches her undress, then averts his eyes when she looks over to him. This is so . . . wrong. Not the being with Ziva part, but the situation. He never wanted their first time – if they ever had one – to be like this. Forced, under duress, for survival only.

A sudden thought hits him and his eyes widen as he turns to Ziva. "Ziva. . ."

She seems to know what he's going to say and takes hold of his head in her hands. "I. Trust. You," she repeats.

He holds her gaze for a moment, then nods, standing up. "Okay. Okay." He starts to unbutton his pants, but finds himself fumbling, his hands shaking.

"Tim." Ziva's voice, as calm as ever. He looks down at her. "Let me." He nods and moves his hands away, and Ziva kneels in front of him, releasing the button from its hole and then unzipping his fly and slipping her hands just inside his waistband to slip them down. Once they are around his feet, she pushes herself to stand in front of him. "There."

McGee still can't look at her, his guilt is so much. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking off to the side. "I'm sorry, Ziva," he says, his voice cracking a bit.

Ziva steps closer to him, placing her hands on his chest, and when he still doesn't look down at her, raises a hand to touch his cheek. He looks down then and she says, "Pretend they're not watching. It is just the two of us. Pretend we are undercover, or that we are lovers."

When he speaks, his words are so soft she has to strain to hear them, even standing as close as she is. "Maybe I don't want to pretend."

McGee's words twist inside Ziva's stomach and she has to force herself to stay calm. "I know," she whispers, then stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth, knowing if they don't do this soon, the men will come back and kill them.

McGee refuses the kiss at first, but Ziva doesn't give up, knowing she can make him give in, make him forget that this is for their survival, make him believe it's more than that and she wants him to make love to her. It's not entirely untrue; she's imagined the possibilities. But she doesn't care about any of that right now, or even what will happen when they get out of here. She just wants to make sure they have the chance _to_ get out of here.

Ziva slides her hands into McGee's hair, pressing her body against his chest. She feels his resolve fade away as he moves his arms around her and finally starts to kiss her back. Ziva lowers her hands from his head and to his boxers, the only item of clothing he has left. But rather than push them down, she cups her hand over the front of them, finding the outline of his cock against the fabric, and wraps her fingers around the length, leaving him moaning into her mouth despite himself.

His hands brush her lower back as he pushes at her pants and she uses her other hand to unsnap and unzip her cargo pants, and he pushes them down, his hand brushing the soft skin of her ass as he does so.

All embarrassment is gone now, replaced by desire, how neither one of them can control the physical needs of their bodies any longer, and McGee pushes them back to the bed, Ziva collapsing onto the mattress first before McGee crawls on top of her, breaking their kiss. He looks down at her, how her pupils are blown wide and her lips swollen from their kiss, and he knows then what a bad idea that was.

His head drops to his chest and Ziva tosses her head back against the mattress, knowing the reality of the situation has come back to him. But she can't give up. She _won't_ give up.

"McGee. Look at me." Her voice is demanding, and when he evades her eyes again, she grabs his chin in her hand and forces him to look at her. "You can do this. You _have _to do this. We both do." She loosens her grip once it seems he won't look away. "Please."

He continues to stare down at her, confused at the expression in her eyes, knowing this is far more complicated than even he's making it, then he nods and Ziva lets out a breath. She knows she's not helping matters any, but this is McGee and it doesn't matter what their relationship has been; she knows this will change everything between them, and it terrifies her.

McGee pushes his boxers off before he loses his nerve again, and reaches for Ziva's panties. She doesn't protest, just looks into his eyes as he slides them off, dropping them on the floor next to the bed. Ziva sits up to unclasp her bra and remove it, then lies back down, looking into his eyes again. He lets out a breath and she nods subtly, encouraging him.

He forces himself to look away from her face and down to her chest, her bare stomach, the triangle of curls between her legs. He feels himself getting hard, because she is still unbearably beautiful, and the thought crosses his mind that he'll be able to tell Tony he actually had sex with Ziva.

He swallows the thought, knowing how sick it is, and instead focuses on the act, placing his hands on the insides of Ziva's thighs until she opens her legs, giving him access. He positions himself over her and inserts himself into her, letting out a deep breath as he feels her wet tightness around him.

He continues to push inside her and Ziva is making little noises of pleasure at the sensation, which spurs him on, making his actions more eager. As he strokes in and out of her, Ziva clutches at his back, lifting herself to whisper in his ear. She shouldn't, she knows, but everything's already completely fucked, so she may as well be honest with herself.

"You're my best friend."

He doesn't stop his motions, _can't_ stop now, and continues to pump into her, pressing his hands hard into the mattress, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks.

He bites his lip before Ziva grabs his head in her hand again, pulling it down to meet hers as she falls back to the mattress and kisses him, trying to help him finish. He returns the kiss roughly, nipping at her bottom lip, and Ziva moans at the sensation. By now, his hands are gripping her hips so hard she knows she'll have bruises for days, but she doesn't care; it's better than being dead.

And then, he bottoms out, holding her against him, and she feels him jerk as a warm sensation fills her stomach.

It's over just like that, and he pulls away, panting as he recovers from his orgasm. Ziva reaches down to extract him, but he intercepts her hand before she can, sending a wave of panic through her. The panic subsides as he kisses her palm and says, "I should've pulled out."

She shakes her head. "No, it's. . . It doesn't matter either way." She doesn't want to say it, add to the guilt he's feeling, how them doing this unprotected could make things even _more _complicated, but she knows he already knows that.

McGee nods and then looks away. "I need to get dressed," he mutters, and Ziva nods her agreement, sitting up and holding the sheet to her chest as she searches for her bra. Before she can find anything, though, they hear the sound of gunshots.

McGee pauses in his own quest, glancing over at Ziva and sharing a concerned, yet hopeful, glance with her. The shots cease and he quickly puts his boxers back on, then picks up Ziva's discarded panties and tosses them at her as he moves to the other side of the room, hoping for a signal of what is to come next.

"McGee!"

The sound of the voice has them both scrambling to get dressed, as they know it's their chance at escape.

"Ziva!"

The voice is growing closer, and then there's the sound of footsteps running over concrete and finally, the door being wrenched open. Tony stands on the other side, his expression turning to shock as he takes in his half-dressed and battered co-workers. He pulls out his cell phone, waiting for a moment before saying, "Yeah, Boss. I found them."

* * *

><p>The next few weeks are hard on everyone. Things are strained, McGee and Ziva have both been to therapy, with seemingly no results. Ziva seems . . . normal, or as normal as can be expected, but McGee has completely withdrawn, and avoids being alone with Ziva at all costs.<p>

Ziva watches him from her desk every day, wishing he would talk to her in a capacity that wasn't work related. She knows he still feels guilty, feels he had violated her, but she forgave him, had told him so many times. And she also knows she can't push him, or he'll just withdraw even further.

But one day, she finds herself watching him and he raises his head and looks over, meeting her eyes. She doesn't look away, and to her surprise, neither does he. Ziva feels something in her chest clench, as she realizes this is the first step to rebuilding their relationship, and she allows a smile to cross her face. He holds her gaze a moment more before returning to his work, and Ziva lets out the breath she's only realized she's been holding. One step at a time.

Later, Ziva walks into the break room, to see McGee standing at the snack machine. She smiles as a Nutter Butter falls from its tray and he bends to retrieve it. When he stands and turns, he's surprised to see her. "Ziva."

"Ah, I thought you should know, I'm not pregnant." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans casually against the wall, making sure not to block the doorway, so he doesn't feel boxed in.

He nods at her. "That's good." He starts toward the door, but Ziva speaks again before he can make it out.

"That's all you have to say?" She is careful not to sound accusing, merely curious, and he stops, looking back at her.

"What do you want me to say, Ziva?" he asks, and the sincerity in his voice tells Ziva she's broken through, gotten back to the McGee she remembers . . . the McGee who is her best friend. "I wish it had never happened, but it did. There's no going back."

"Exactly, McGee." Ziva pushes herself off the wall, but doesn't move any closer to him. "The past is the past. You _have _to let it go." She pauses, then says, "I would like to have you back. I miss our friendship."

McGee appears to be deep in thought as he stares down at the floor, but then he looks up, and Ziva is pleased to see a slight smile on his face. "I miss it, too."

Ziva knows it's too soon for any sort of physical affection, so she settles for a nod and a smile. "Good. I need someone to help me torture Tony, after all."

That elicits a laugh from McGee and Ziva's smile grows. She walks over to the vending machine to buy the chocolate bar she came for and watches from the corner of her eye as McGee exits to return to his desk, his posture just a bit straighter and his walk more relaxed.

She waits a moment after her dollar slides into the machine to press the numbers, content to let her exchange with McGee sink in. It would never go away, would always linger in each of their minds, but she was right in knowing they would get past it.

She bet her life on it.

She presses the numbers for the candy bar and watches as it's pushed to the front of its tray and knocked down, then retrieves it and leaves the room.

**THE END**


End file.
